


The Generous Monk & The Greedy Ogre

by RAW_SYNTH3TICA



Category: Forbidden Kingdom (2008), The Expendables (Movies)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Dorky Film Poster Obsession, Historical Fantasy, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Male Slash, Photo Manipulation, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Sensuality, Sexual Humor, Sexual Tension, Violence, sexual innuendo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-13
Updated: 2013-09-13
Packaged: 2017-12-26 12:13:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/965799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RAW_SYNTH3TICA/pseuds/RAW_SYNTH3TICA
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world different from his own, Gunnar wanders until happening upon a Monk. Neither can figure each other out, yet both refuse to abandon the other without First teaching the other a lesson. </p><p>an 'Expendables' x 'Forbidden Kingdom' x 'The Sorcerer & The White Snake' X-over</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Generous Monk & The Greedy Ogre

**Author's Note:**

> ALL IS FICTIONAL & NOT MINE
> 
> i've had thing for movie posters & standalone shots involving two (or more) people since learning of dynamic anatomy & positioning of characters. the original is something like 1500x1200 pixels & seems like a hassle if i uploaded the Entire thing here.

 

The wonders beyond the steps of heaven, past the gates which split earthly and Godly seemed as if to dissipate, blending two worlds together, that of legend and those of reality, Gunnar would have either one whichever had the best drink, the prettiest girls and the shiniest gold. A night filled with and feeding every appetite except the one that drove him to do more dangerous work without thinking twice after seeing the added digits, he lay in a field outside the bar, wondering how he ever ended up in such a place, machinegun still slung over his right shoulder, military-issued handgun tucked into the belt of his BDUs, the sting of cobra whiskey leaving his tongue hot and stomach clenching in warmth. Thinking further than chemicals and atoms never got him beyond anything than the university podium, he thought to himself, then finishing training to become a legal american leatherneck, the story in short of how he was laying drunk, horny, and smugly patriotic on some other strange planet with no other company than humanoid extraterrestrials. Cousins with strange customs they were.

Stars, constellations, stories beckoning him into times where men gave each ever-burning point of light a name, an unfurling history and an even more glorious future, stars shined brighter with the help of local delicacies, or so Gunnar laughed to himself. He lazily scratched near the handgun’s trigger at the skin under his navel, his mind pleasantly swimming away with the black sea washing in cool, velvet blue tides of midnight, each wave carrying a wispy pearl in forms unknown to him, the heavens gently beckoning him away from the bloodied earth. His eyes closed and all seemed as if to be lifted away by the pluming air crashing soothingly about his body, silently, undoubtedly, the world seemed as if to open to the sky, carrying him with all that was no longer that of the Earth.

Gunnar awoke, the sky heavy and pattering cold drops against his body, he blinked in reflex against the drops falling against his face, the liquid seeping and chilling him to the bone the more consciousness he gained, he looked about himself as much as the dimness allowed. First came the feeling as if he had slept but he was still carrying the weariness whereas he should have been refreshed from rest, he looked down at himself, rubbing a muddy hand over his face as he did, he saw that his soaked undershirt was torn to shreds, his pants fared better with more mud and less tears, he still had his bag, but everything else and everything within was missing. Anger boiled within him, making his skin burn and the water droplets melt off in steam, before the brunt of his fury overtook him, by some chance, his eyes were drawn to the sky, luckily, a patch of sky revealed itself, the clouds gasping away in dark gray plumes whilst the heavens stood uncloaked above him, thunder lighting the rain and the clouds from which they fell.

He wiped mud from his eyes, at first seeing an instantaneous flash, one star, then two, followed by many, illuminating the stark black, each flash on the tail of the other, flying across heaven and quite possibly landing on the planet, or else burning out all it’s glory to that of another species. A sense of peace, like the falling stars, it burned brightly within him, filling his eyes as a heavenly scenery would sate them, filling his hands in weight as gold would glut them, filling his stomach as the finest foods would gorge it, and finally pervading his heart with if not a Complete sensation of love, then a very faint spark licking up his arteries, around the chamber within his chest. Inclusiveness before was once an evasive feeling, and for that very moment he felt the beginnings of hope winding about him like the caring arms of…of…he had no word for what would finish his thought.

All at once he found himself kneeling in mud and cold droplets in the wake of a fresh drizzle, just as suddenly as the stars disappeared as did the peaceful sensations befall him, before him came a rhythmic ripple, too heavy to be that of rain hitting the ground, yet also much too in a steady beat to be that of careless raindrops being scattered hither and thither about the abundantly-watered land. He could do nothing more than watch as fate approached him, closer and still as of yet closer the light steps came, until the ice seeming as if to form a barrier on his skin was cut by a warm hand slipping under his chin. Gunnar was a the mercy of this stranger with whose’ damp white robes he faced, his gaze and eyes being gently ushered upward, miles and layers of white folds passed before wide abalone-hued pools greeted him questioningly, side to side that face lilted, but still it seemed that in all the wisdom that appeared to have been poured into his eyes, he still could not decipher from where Gunnar came from, or at all What he was.

The young man may have spoken, or he might not have in the least, Gunnar felt himself Drawn to speak, Coaxed to sound out words as those eyes have pseudo-commanded him to do so, he brokenly whispered as best he could due to the cold and the pressure of the gentle hand under his chin, “Speak English-”

The man only shook his head in manner as one does when coherence is short as is their attention, but he was still wholly focused, completely with all his might searching for phrase or word that he recognized, none came, not a single expression or word passed him in perception, and so he opened the ties of his robe, his left hand rising to his right collarbone, two fingers working to loosen the knots tying each corner of his outer clothing, sealing the cold dampness out. His small left palm easily opened the robe, once both sides of his outer robe hung limply about his shoulders, his right hand slid to Gunnar’s neck, then between his shoulder blades, the smaller palm fit on his back nearly so miniscule that Gunnar wondered if he flexed his shoulders and back muscles that if the palm would disappear into the crevice of his spine. With the attention of a bird to her eggs, he was being pushed, moreover being gently nudged into the uncovered warmth, and so he fell as easily as the stars fell, but the static curl of ambiance he felt when he saw the sky light with shooting stars grew stronger as he came closer to the source of heat.

So fall he did, wrapping his arms about the sapling-like waist, his chin resting so near a steady beat, one so resonant that it seemed as if his whole body shook with the even, low boom, and he collapsed into the overbearing warmth inviting sleep along with sanctuary from the unending rain. The young man only leaned back slightly to Gunnar’s weight, still offering his miniscule body and forgiving temperature withheld within his robes, centering around his core as he breathed in even huffs, his skin alive with electric muscle and thrumming veins, another being altogether, separated from his heart and eyes, but one they were, making him whole for Gunnar to feel and see. The Swede sensed himself swimming with foreign sensations, several hardly matching those that he remembered, most completely opposite to others which were years ago established, little by little the world once more opened up and swallowed him whole in it’s mouth, deeper, slower, darker, the soft veils of cotton robes were spun about him, and sleep wakeless and dreamless as death, joining and fastening their fates together. Neither were aware of such.

Swallows answered the questions of dreams that the dreamers would dare not ask, ‘Yes! You are dreaming! Awake! Awake! Awake and greet dawn!’ they happily chirped over and over, lulling Gunnar once again back into daytime’s bracing insomnia, he first registered an inhuman heat settling around an object which he held so closely, a dryness between where his body touched ground and around his upper torso. He chanced a glance upward, visible between the tiny slit of closed robes still remained the young man, unmoved yet mindful, quiet and resigned yet watchful, the same opalescent eyes observing no certain point of vantage, merely drinking in as the sopping land did of the thick, liquid curtains placed before him. Gunnar could only stare, his own eyes enjoying foreign appearance and manner, his face exposed and very calm in expression.

Eyes round, full and seeming to claim most of his face coincidentally as a full moon obtains most of the autumn sky they shone brightly in the rising dawn, his head void of any hair but two rows of three scarred dots lined above his brows expressive and generous in their size gave silent words for his eyes to gesture, his nose strong in pronunciation and delicate in structure sat above his unspeaking lips. Overall, one would be split between praising him unconventional or oddly lovely, either way, Gunnar reflected as much that they would meet no more than this one time, where both were nothing else than strangers whom will remain little differently than two insensible souls passing with their backs to another. They will never protest nor lend a hand in tightening the already confusing ties linking them as a right and left hand are joined to the same body, the right and left ribcage housing the same heart, so both were undisturbed in not realizing as of yet.

The young man sensed the eyes of another entity roving as they would over writing on a scroll, he glanced down into his lap at the stranger he took into his robes, he swept the flowing outer clothing away until a shock of blue lay motionlessly revealed and unabashed in their conquest. Gunnar slowly withdrew his arms from around the stiff hips, he crawled backwards on his hands and knees until he and the young man were separated by twenty paces of mud, he saw the creature sitting on one leg and crossing his left ankle atop his right knee, or moreover balancing his entire weight on his right leg as if he were seated upon a low stool, left hand holding parallel to his shoulders a simple paper and bamboo umbrella. The Swede was unimpressed by the inhuman stance taken and quite possibly unyielding since he was first taken out of the rain, he was moreover taken aback by the innocent lack of response after having…‘slept’?… with a man, maybe out of context having a man sleep on his lap an entire night and not so much as letting a negative sound be uttered to disturb the morning, and make Gunnar believe everything was only an accident, too much of a drug on both their part, some excuse so that there will be nothing left of the beautiful few hours of peace.

Only the young man gave no blame to either of them, he just let things be as they were. His right leg straightened, his left leg planted itself on the muddy ground, and he unfurled the long outer coat-nest he hours before pleated for his guest, he then proceeded to said-guest, the seemingly vast oiled paper and bamboo umbrella keeping him dry as he advanced, or rather floated upon every fallen drop as they fell and splashed into the permeated ground. Gunnar lost himself within the breeze-like movements, he felt suddenly conscious in how clumsy and dirty he looked, but all the same more and more angry how a pretty youth would show mercy to a killer such as himself. He knew they matched in handsomeness in their appearance, but there was the matter of roughness and how they posed a threat to another; the young man smiled, the lips gently pushing a set of cheekbones to complete fullness in their miniscule act, revealing white teeth and a friendliness that was once hidden behind the guarded expression he wore like a uniform.

One thing led to another, and Gunnar blinked a dew collected on his brows the dusk ruling natural time, his muscles sore, his body wet and the young man gone. He knew nothing of how long he stood holding the paper umbrella to protect not even his own self from the downpour, but he stood looking on in the dark for prints washed away shortly after they were made, there was no sign left that everything that happened in the dawn was anything but a hallucination dreamed up by the image of the young man. The umbrella was proof enough that there was a kind soul out there needing a rare sense of gentle punishment for underestimating his rotten character, and indeed the youth looked by far too late due for his castigation. He dug up his bag from the mud and followed a path leading him through an unusual forest, long green poles jutting from the ground slapped him this way and that as he wound his way through the dense greenery, sick to death of the forest, he uprooted the sturdiest-looking bole and swung until the forest lay trampled in his stampeding.

The echoes of his labored shouts bounced from branch to branch, closely followed by heavy snapping noises, the bamboo rods bowed before Gunnar, he sneered and continued to tear down anything and everything that stood in his way. In his madness, his mind suddenly cleared, and he looked once more to the undergrowth to the low, swaying grass receiving drops from the sky, the path he intended to trail disappeared, leaving him hapless and stranded in a swaying forest of great spires reaching into the early night. He gathered a handful of unbroken poles from the ground and arranged them so that he could sit away from the uneven dampness that surrounded, he sat shivering under the weeping heavens wishing now more than ever that he would wake in a place far uglier, far more comfortable and dry. There came again instead but a dream, one where the young man spoke endless nonsense, his lips moving quickly without a word being uttered for which Gunnar to understand, so he let himself be chirruped to, listening to the sounds which came softly and low.

So again, he stirred from the arranged bamboo poles to a place not quite like the one he mowed down, it was first of all dry, and secondly populated by more strange people dressed in simple robes, a bonfire blazed at the center where he was faced to a circle of tents, the rain not yet abating as he might have wanted. He sat up abruptly, staring about as he did, at great caldrons of fragrant broth simmering various ingredients and such, the rich scents curling amongst populated chairs and tables, the comforting sting of wine tainting both minds and filled clay urns the further he breathed deeply the many wonders. Boldly-painted characters bordered upon banners, the banners of subject hung upon populated tents, and the tents connected to great stone walls, the walls shaped the bone structure of a vast city he was an obvious stranger to. How Gunnar did not notice before as he did at that moment, he was alone in a world either far from his own or the complete opposite of what he dreamed, or rather what he experienced were the things nightmares were made of.

His feet wobbled as he stood, the swoon of drunken sleep plaguing his limbs to be unstable as a newborn’s, yet he still wanted to explore, to find wine, a couple loose women, a good table for gambling, and maybe a life to end as a means of flavoring his evening. Something caught his eye amongst the dullness, a band of starving children and women naked and caged on an ox-drawn wagon rolling along the wet stone-road, whips lashed along the oxen’s backs as heavily-armed guards marched alongside the wagon. Suddenly, as if lightning struck, the youth landed on the cage as a leaf does after long flight, he drew his hands together in one motion and dove his hands into the flat iron lid, he ripped the cage in half and cast a tent’s covering over the screaming women and children. The wagon stopped, guards moved in with their spears pointed at the young man, the young man appeared to be unafraid, unmoved, steadfast and sure that he was not at all at fault in his actions.

The young man surveyed the surrounding infantry, possibly counting or taking note of their weapons, there was first a tiny, almost nonexistent twitch in the young man’s neck, just below his ear on the right side, and not unlike a storm raging upon the sea, the young monk rose in flight with both legs tucked beneath his aerial form, right fist curled like claws reaching forward and left arm tucked dormant nearest to his shoulder. So then began his arms forming and crashing against the soldiers like thunder snapping upon branches, his kicks landing in hurricane-like eruptions of speed and control, he flew forth to one troop who raised their sword, striking at his exposed chest only to have their blade pushed aside and a bruise from the young monk’s palm printed into their right shoulder. He spun his upper torso around to power forward, landing his heel into the soldier’s ankles, sending him prone to the muddy road.

And Gunnar fell from swoon, his body crumbling into a heap not before the young monk tore the wagon bit by bit and in doing so, throwing the parts prone at the soldiers until they retreated to the city’s many streets, he paused to breathe. He quickly pulled down banners from shop doors and clothed the bare women and children, finally sending them away to a nearby temple, he stood in the rain watching the group leave, the full sky pouring and showering as he waited politely in the drizzle. His speech was articulate, flowing one syllable to the next, and if none listened close enough, one would miss the very code-like melody which connected each word and sentence like a bird warbling to his song, yet uncommon was his speech for it was unknown to Gunnar. Gunnar pulled himself back unto his feet and searched about the open stall for the mysterious youth.

Off the white shadow retreated away further into the night’s shaded gloom, the tiny form flying away upon cloth wings and the air of a distant familiarity, one which Gunnar had forgotten long before losing his humanity as a soldier. Within the white robes, there was not only warmth, but an unseen energy he had hungered for, teasing him, wishing him to follow, each wave of desire more cloying and maddening than the last. He moved after, splashing along once more before the trail gave way to washed stone and wet dust, little could be said of their soggy journey with Gunnar following twenty or fifteen paces behind, at first wondering if he should hide lest the monk turn and scold him, at the same time he figured not only did cowards hide from a timid little fellow, but he was too great in height to duck behind the seemingly small and frail architecture. And so he followed the seemingly blind, deaf, mute and stupidly heedless little monk.

Soon, or so it seemed, the city lay behind it’s protective high-stone walls, the wilderness thickening first about his eyes and soon felt through his still-bare feet, at first grateful that there was soft grass and flowers to trod on but quickly withdrawing his silent thanks with his foot stepping on bare stones and stubborn twigs. The day brightened from the passing clouds and downpour lessening to a cold, damp sprinkle, Gunnar suddenly caught a chill, the few hours he spent silently sneezing finally wore down his patience, he sat thinking he could catch his breath before he could lose sight of the white robes. Sunlight warmed his aching legs and heated his soaked torso, he relaxed as much as a worn man could through an unceasing journey through places he swore that only heavenly eyes could see, and alas his own mortal eyes dropped closed from experiencing such a treat: the young monk approaching him.

Gentle hands set to work first treating Gunnar’s wounds on the soles of his feet, he sighed, feeling only tiny palms doing mysterious business which he had half the heart to care if it did not feel too good in the first place to object, he napped fitfully yet enough that his feet healed. Amazed by his unknowing arrival in another place as he lay finally awake upon straw-bedding in an oxcart, he sat up in the still oxcart and was again drawn to wonder why a mist wrapped everything in a thick white shroud which neither moved nor lifted, only to quickly forget his suspicions to blindly reach about the damp night alit with cold mist. His eyes strained and made out the slightest outline peeking from the gray darkness, he blinked through the rain, second guessing himself at once spying a white-robed form sitting crossed-legged and inclined to a serene posture. He approached, the singularly lit fireplace, looking about the hearth for fire-roasted meats while across him in the seemingly vast traveler’s shed was the monk, Gunnar angrily stomped around, angry at his own hunger and wakefulness from his previous nap, yet outside the rain died away to quietly curling mists, he gulped down a golden tea cooling innocently at the fireside.

Angry, confused, and his throat feeling as if it were bathed in gold, he trod out to find sustenance since the monk was so rude as to not only ignore him but also eat everything else and not save something for him. He set to the road, sloshing along the path for again what seemed as if years had passed for as long as he had awakened in this place had he seen the sun, once more which was all too strange to not have shone itself in nothing even as a single glimmer or shining upon the clouds. Yet had he to see the clouds also he thought to himself, he grumbled through the endlessly unsteady road sopped to the core with the unceasing rain, trying as he would to find the sun and bask in it’s familiarity, to soak it’s heat and put his mind to rest for not having looked past any but the unending downpour. One would think the gods thirsty were it not for the spiritual absence of divinity in the first place.

Muscles which one would think was made for boundless endurance yielded after hours of fruitless searching for food which did not exist in the open, Gunnar grew both maddeningly restless and infinitely exhausted for his body absorbed the golden tea he had drank only hours before, his long sturdy bones gave way to a guiltily heavy inconvenience. He found himself wishing he had never slept, yearning to not having awoken in such a strange place so endless and gentle yet barren of a heartless cruelty that he was fond of, a brutality which kept his stomach fed, his pockets bountiful, his body satisfied and his mind drunk with alcoholic madness and the blood in his heart cold as his rifle. Yes, this place was barren of the necessary sins of humanity, it was also too placid for his tastes, and yet, the land and it’s inhabitants were unorthodox and untainted.

Night blended with day or the hours before morning never ended before Gunnar collapsed, his body giving out beneath him as parched roots does to a starved tree, he lay beside the road watching farmers, travelers and weary vagrants pass him without so much as a glance. He wondered if any were as good to him, a strange careless outsider, as the monk had been, offering him sanctuary when he needed, not refusing him to be a traveling companion when he chose, and not scolding him when he drank the monk’s only source of drinking liquid.

“But there’s water Everywhere!” he shouted when he noticed he was defending the monk’s righteousness and was suddenly having a mental fight with himself over what was replaceable and what was not rightfully his to begin with, “I’m fucking Drowning on dry land, here!”

He knew himself well enough to figure how he got rid of anger, and it was to replace that anger with lust, ending in satisfaction. Just then, he heard a light pattering, the same as he had heard before when he first met the monk, he whipped around on his side to watch the white-hooded figure quietly tread the path, each step merely prelude to the next, the young man continued onward until they were only a dozen paces apart.

“You!” Gunnar shouted to the young monk whom already looked through the rain to him, moving along silently toward him, silently weighing his words as if they were not only too heavy, but also verily much gilded in layers of mystery, “Come here.”

The monk approached, each step quieter and tinier than the last, until they were merely levitating toward one another, the rain lessening until merely a thin curtain of dew lay between them both, obscuring their features. Gunnar alas peered through the veil to the other, seeing the eyes once more so wide with curiosity and wisdom that he was taken aback, stepping forward as if the energy of the other were drawing him near, the skin of the young monk’s neck and hands were as pale and seemingly just as soft as frothed cream. Beneath the many layers of the monk’s robes Gunnar knew instinctively there was a strong body, small and possibly frail, but supple and gentle all the same, almost like a woman’s.

No longer able to hold himself away or above the swell in his groin beginning to think for him, he motioned forward with his finger to the monk and said , “How much?”

The young man’s eyes flew to new heights almost completely claiming half of his face if it did not require him to blink, he pondered a moment which turned to two, alas smiling slightly for a reason unknown to Gunnar, he repeated in his own words which sounded just barely past the tone which determined his adulthood, “ ‘How much’ for?”

“A fuck,” Gunnar said simply, the smugness seeping through his voice as he answered the tiny monk standing before him, he approached until they were only but a breath’s space apart, “I asked how much it was for a Fuck.”

“I accept neither for any price,” the young man answered, stepping aside to the other side of the winding path and bowing his head respectfully as his voice lowered, “However, I do give acts of selflessness free of charge.”

“Do me a ‘kindness’ and make This disappear!” Gunnar ordered pointing down to his groin, which both eyes followed until the young man gasped and quickly bowed for his disrespectful gesture of fear.

The young man looked down first as soon as he had risen from his bow, he covered the area with his sleeve before asking Gunnar, “Is that a wish?”

“Hell yeah, I’d wish for you to get rid of my boner!” Gunnar nonetheless quickly answered, positions and sexual postures already forming in his head as he spoke.

“Done,” the monk said, nodding down to the aforementioned area, Gunnar’s eyes followed.

“What the fuck’d you do to me!” Gunnar shouted grasping at his crotch and digging through his BDUs for the thing that he was missing at the moment, he yelled in the young man’s face, “Where’d my dick go!”

“I granted your wish,” the monk explained waving his hand down to Gunnar’s pants, he then said as if to blow away questionable thoughts and actions whilst he paced around Gunnar and tilted his head aside as he spoke, “You specifically wished for me to get rid of your…problem.”

“It ain’t a ‘Problem’, it’s my Dick!” Gunnar took the young man by his shoulders and yelled in his face, “You better make something Good happen really Quick, Monk.”

“Fortune awaits, Ogre,” the monk easily pushed his arms off and paced upon a completely new stretch of road, whistling and speaking lightly as he did along the untaken path toward somewhere unknown, “All you have to do is Earn it.”

Though Gunnar hated himself for doing so, he followed before he could lose sight of the monk and be left with a rather tasteless and sexless life. He figured that the young man knew a kind of magic, cruel, unusual and strange - it was oddly not at all merciless since he felt the charm work him painlessly, making his lust’s protuberance disappear, not the actual area of anatomy. However further he rationalized for being deprived of one of his most-dependable vices he was all too human towards, he felt in a way both crippled and freed, still angry he was for it being done so quickly and crudely, Gunnar vowed three things: vengeance, vindication for his being here in this strange land and bodily gratification which ever way he could have it.

Onward, onward and further until the shadow had disappeared to places within a tall structure, painted pillars of shades once vibrant and red stood washed and glossed by the rain, Gunnar went in also only to be shooed out into the building of another. As tall as he was in a land where the only person he had seen who was the tallest was the little monk, he lay prone in the rain, mud oozing through his soaked clothing and the darkening skies lending another chill to his already cold body. Layers upon layers of mist seemed as if to be lying atop him the longer he lay on the ground shaking, up until two gentle arms helped him to his feet, dragging him to an area of warmth and delicious aromas, he again slept not knowing when he was put down or the cause of the faint tastes still lingering on his lips.

“You!” he heard someone shout to his left, groggily Gunnar opened one eye to the room smelling of sugar-glazed meats and steamed vegetables and the strong cloying perfume of self-employed vixens, “There are rooms you can rent, if you plan on sleeping on the stool, it’ll be a copper to have the stool.”

Gunnar patted himself down, feeling his dry clothing, his feet curling inside his boots, and his pockets ringing with money, he pulled out a round silver ore the size of his thumb, he passed the money to the waiter as he then ordered, “Wine.”

With his eyes finally wide open, he observed the three-floored restaurant-parlor, the bottom where he sat full of served foods and the second surely a gambling den, lastly the uppermost floor obscured almost Teasingly in paper and silk screens the hardly-confined noises of bodily pleasure, he spoke with a dry mouth, “And a room.”

If only for a moment he had to steal into those rooms with the maddening young man lounging across from him with another woman, seemingly a peasant woman she was with the way they spoke to one another, they were smiling, talking and sharing an empty table.

“Brother Zhang, have another drink, please,” the woman was kindly imploring as she tilted a kettle before the little monk.

“Thank you, that’s very kind,” he smiled as he took a sip, just as he swept his sleeve away with his other hand, he gently laid his palms facedown upon his lap and said to the woman, “Has your father’s back been giving him any more trouble?”

“No, no! He’s healing fairly well since you and the abbot have last visited us. I haven’t seen father run or tend to the animals after his accident,” the woman giggled to which Gunnar was lost at her turn of phrase for he had seen not one animal throughout this place which he had awoken in, “Is there anything you would like?”

Ever thoughtful and mindful of his host, the little monk first toasted to his host and quietly replied, “Water and steamed cabbage, please?”

She hailed the waiter long before Gunnar’s hail for an entire jar of wine to himself, the little monk named Brother Zhang slowly nibbled the leaves and sipped the hot water until all that remained on the table was an empty bowl and his hand searching for the woman’s, he gently squeezed her palms as he left an object within their warm grasp, she chuckled heartily, “Another one, brother Zhang? But you’re already so- you’re too much!”

“You unburden me from my troubles,” he explained while she brushed her fingers over the thing in her hands which Gunnar could not see no matter how he rose or swayed for a better look, he closed her hands over the object just before he could get a better view, “It’s the least I can do.”

After the woman left, Gunnar felt the floor lurch, his eyes shot about to see if there were signs of alarm to alert him if the occurrence should be an earth quake, written on every face seemed to be a relief, he stood up and once more the sensation of the floor rocking beneath him had him staggering to the door. Just as he unbolted the doors and threw them aside, the rain and thunder cracked before him and struck one of the pillars which only glowed with it’s surface unmarred by the lightning strike, again he felt himself lurch forward though he had not moved from the very spot, not even a breath disturbed rigid posture. At his side appeared the monk whom used his vast sleeve to sweep aside the rain and clouds for only but a second, Gunnar’s voice caught in his throat: the parlor was airborne and they were all passengers!

The great swooping wings made of bamboo and tightly woven cloth propelled the building upward and forward into the clouds, though lightning gave a sudden animation to the screen windows and embroidered silk curtains flowing with the motion of the rain, Gunnar hated at the moment to be caught by a gust or tornado and to be thrown into space by a rogue flying restaurant. The thought alone was enough he keep him in bed at the military psych ward for years, but were it not for the little monk patting his lax hands until he let go of the doors from his death grip, he took a step back as the monk named brother Zhang single handedly closed both doors and bolted the entrance with a log, he was vaguely aware of being led backwards, tiny hands pushing him down by his shoulders until he sat on a stool while his wine was being brought to him. The monk sent the jar back along with a request for the doors to be locked from the outside.

“This is all really Real, isn’t it?” Gunnar planted his heels down hard on the unsteady wooden floors, giving himself a sense of security were the restaurant to get cracked down by lightning and a rain of wine and naked guests.

“I may affirm and insist that what you feel is simply Is,” the monk simply looked at him as a child does when asked a question on marital problems, he stood before him since they were eye to eye with Gunnar seated on a stool, “You’re free to doubt me.”

“All this-” Gunnar motioned to the entire space behind him, the monk nodded, he fell on his back breaking the stool and laughing riotously in his stupidity, “-I’m drunk! I’m really in the fucking bottle! Who knew!”

Not seeming at all pleased with Gunnar’s denial, the monk simply took a seat to his left beside him atop a provided stool while they both faced the door, wondering where they would land or for how long they were able to endure the bobbing and knocking of the flying parlor in the middle of the storm. Little effected the life around them, music played louder, the voice of drunken giants roared through tables full of guests and bets in the floor above were shouted as if to drown out the endless thundering beyond the waxed paper windows, and so did the rise of given and received pleasures shock Gunnar out of his stupor.

“Binds which tie me to the earth are lesser to the doctrines which pull me to higher teachings,” the monk suddenly spoke, his face in profile view as Gunnar glanced to watch his lips move ever so slightly, he tilted his head slightly only in the tiniest of a nod as he spoke, “So is what one must expect of a monk.”

Gunnar’s head swam with the thin atmosphere, the perfumed-smokes burning at the corners of the flying parlor, bells jangling along with the minutes swoops as the parlor dipped and rose easily as a ship on stormy seas, wine fumes circling like an invisible typhoon loosened the tight hold on his lips. What a better person it was to speak of his problem to, a spiritual student so resolute on sheltering himself from the world that Gunnar was more than sick of his own inconvenient celibacy. There were plenty of places to go, more than one lady or tempting sir to pay, Gunnar decided to get answers of where ‘Here’ was and Why he was in such a place, and since the young man spoke in riddles, he decided to try his luck at a deep question which was welling in him since completing his first job.

“When I sleep, I can’t dream,” he said simply, once feeling eyes on him he continued as he leaned his elbows on his knees, the familiar sensation of his body weighing as much as the breath he took flooded his nerves and swelled inside his chest, he looked to the beautiful face whom was also gazing at him in a mixture of understanding and recognition as if he had once also had the same experience, “But when I wake up, I feel like I’m dreaming.”

Gunnar’s eyes rolled lazily taking in every detail about the face just a shoulder’s length away at his side, he took the young man’s chin in his shaking left hand, his finger playing upon the soft skin as the monk’s chin began to tremble, “Is this all a dream, little Monk?”

“To the Immortals, our life is but a forgotten dream,” the young man easily swept his hand away with one palm, his words heavy and solemn as if it were such a sad truth, for indeed it was a terrible and tragic thing to be thought of as a lowly mortal, he glanced down to Gunnar more fully, “Where one is dreaming when he wakes, he must have done something terrible to have such a curse.”

“I’m not cursed, Monk. I’m a soldier. It’s in my contract,” Gunnar folded both arms under his head as sarcasm bit out to the young monk whom appeared none too shaken by the rebuttal, more or less he continued anyway if he could try to make things in the least more simple, he spoke candidly, “Well, I was until I fell asleep and woke up here in Never Neverland where whores wear white holy robes instead of fake angel wings and red lipstick. I need a smoke.”

The monk made no motion to stop him from rising and laying himself upon an opium bed, a pipe in hand and an oil lantern burning the sickly cloying smoke through the pipe, before he could inhale the boiling drug, the young monk had crushed the pipe with his bare hands and twisted the opening shut with the flick of a wrist. Gunnar stood, readily he swung his left leg at the young man’s midsection, his attack cut off by two fingers forming the rigidness of a dart flicking into his ankle, once more at the back of his knee with that same palm forming the claws of an eagle and pinching his nerve along with the ligament on the opposite side below his kneecap, rendering his leg locked and muscles midway between spasms and the hurt pride accompanied by shame, his limb dropped uselessly to the ground, wobbling as he put cautious weight upon it. He then spotted another vacant bed next to the one he formerly occupied.

Gunnar lunged for the pipe a single pace away to his left alongside the wall, grasping the metallic pipe, he rolled forward to the opposite side of the narrow wooden bedding, the monk already understanding his intent took his wrist with speed matching lightning and tapped the fragile glass screw-on lip, the opium bowl fell from beneath the pipe, he quietly said, “Let me.”

He spun with a back kick and the bowl fell neatly upon his steady ankle with his leg outstretched behind himself as he gracefully stood upright, perfectly balancing the glass bowl upon his ankle. Not giving a moment for hesitation, Gunnar flung a wood-framed bed at the monk whom easily took hold of the spinning corners, tucking each side gently to his body until the force of the throw became merely slow ripples upon the solid object did he set the bed down behind, not before Gunnar threw him a wooden pillow. The monk only reached back as it flew past his shoulders and tapped the padded block down with his wrist, the pillow halted mid-flight and landed upon the barren bedding behind him. Just as Gunnar turned away to a clay pot full of the sticky-unused urn of opium, the monk slid the tiny bottle from his ankle to the tip of his toe and shot the glass object forward. The urn shattered in Gunnar’s hands, he held only two clay handles as the rest riddled about his boots, an explosion of rage heated him as he surged toward the monk, both arms ready at his side as he began to strike as if the power and anger of a hundred men had possessed him.

The monk in turn bowed, stepped back, swayed side to side until alas he sidestepped and using Gunnar’s brute force packed behind the power in his right fist, he took Gunnar’s wrist and pulled but also swept a foot under the tall stranger and toppled him forward. The flying parlor shook as the result of his weight being forced to crash down upon the wooden slats underfoot, driving the entire building down several layers through the thick atmosphere, scraping his jaw while all came to a stop, the monk quickly locked both his wrists to his side using that same technique which forced his limbs dormant, those same two fingers withdrew from him as the young monk sat atop his heaving back with the bamboo staff and a bent opium pipe in the other hand. That opium pipe came down on his left thigh first, the telltale explosion of pain and heat snapping his muscles taut.

“Not with you thinking through a drugged state are you able to achieve a higher self!” the monk shouted, poking at Gunnar’s head with his heel and laying a new stripe across the back of his right thigh, he bucked to no avail for the fact that a man - no, a Boy quite possibly still in his pubescent years was sitting atop him and Lecturing him of all things about how to Live his Own life, “Not through wine, opium, smoke, powders! How are you able to function at all with those…-Poisons!”

“Get off me, monk!” Gunnar bucked, shouting curses too far outside the monk’s understanding that the apparent disinterest on his face would have seemed comical to the inn’s guests had they not locked themselves up in the many paper-windowed chambers, “Fuck you! Fuck you and your righteousness!”

“Indeed. But how are you to understand this world we live in if mind-altering substances are vying for your attention?” the monk tapped on the top of Gunnar’s skull whilst he spoke, a true concern which felt misplaced in Gunnar’s mind invited a flood of pity he suddenly felt for the monk, he stilled only a moment before craning his neck backwards without the help of his useless arms and left leg, “Please.”

The young man leaned forward, petting his hair, his tiny hand descending alongside a cloth to dab at Gunnar’s scraped jawbone, his blue eyes winced but otherwise he hardened his expression, anger replacing that pity for he was unable to do anything other than feel the quiet simmering of his irritation, the next few words felt as if it were a tincture poured over his boiling fury, “Stop fighting. Nothing good comes from fighting without reason.”

His slight weight lifted as his fingers worked over the prone body’s blocked nerves, he gently pressed each nerve until Gunnar felt his own limbs twitch experimentally, the monk helped him to his feet, steadying him against the rocking parlor floor, the house manager then came to the pair, waving his hand but his legs shaking as he spoke pseudo-firmly, “Hey! The both of you are a bad influence on my business. Take this White Devil elsewhere to make trouble!”

“We paid! We’ll stay until this buzzard lands!” Gunnar bent down and growled in the man’s face, the monk got between the two, “What about our money! We’ve already paid for our room!”

“Fighting in my place and breaking the opium chambers Is the entire fee for damages!” the man cowered behind the monk who merely pressed at Gunnar’s chest to pacify the seemingly unjust circumstances brought unto them.

“Thank you for your hospitality,” the young man known as Brother Zhang bowed before the groundskeeper as he made preparations for departure, Gunnar on the other hand took to a table where the long-abandoned foods lay temptingly in their fresh state, the hot pots still steaming and wine still hot.

Before he could take a single bite, the monk took him by the hand and led him through a door which then became a series of stairs leading straight down at a slight angle, and upon reaching a door, the monk said, “Hold on tight and aim where you fall.”

The door opened and then there came a great gust of damp wind along a bucketful of prickly icy rain thrown into them, Gunnar thought they were going to be dropped off somewhere but when looking at the monk, there were other plans already set for them, Familiar plans already in place. Straight only two paces of platform lay just below the dark frothing clouds heavy as they always had been pounding away at the soaked land, his mouth went dry when he watched the monk unroll a ladder made of wood and rope, the telltale snap signaled to them both that they were allowed only a short trip between the flying parlor and many more miles of nothingness to accompany them besides the rain unto the land. Gunnar’s former specialty was sharp-shooting and survival tactics, but jumping cock-first into a freefall was always his biggest enemy. In short: he was afraid of heights.

“If I was to fly, wouldn’t I have been born with wings!” Gunnar shouted over the thunder rolling along the clouds and dissipating into an echo, he glanced over the edge instantly regretting doing so as he withdrew and fell against the unsteady wall, he murmured to himself, “Or drunk!”

“Come, Ogre!” the young monk glanced back, he reached for Gunnar with a hint of mischief in his voice, “Where’s your sense of adventure!”

“I’d take dying any day, but suicide going airborne without the courtesy of thunder-free skies?” Gunnar’s breath and heart quickened at the same time, only for the fact that a tiny hand lay itself against his elbow, he by a difficult miracle felt safe and a little braver even just an entire phobia’s-worth against the booming skies spread below them, the tempest clouds clearing only the land’s floor, he sucked up his chest and grit out, “I’m a ‘quick death’ kind of guy.”

“We then have no other choice,” the monk said before first pushing Gunnar and hopping off the platform into the unknown which lay ahead.

**Author's Note:**

> this was sitting on my word processor after seeing the first Expendables film, so i posted before it rotted to my brain~ (:3)  
> manipulated photo now added, i am no genius! (:P)


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